


think i'll miss this one this year

by toadstoolkid



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fix-It, Gus Lives AU, M/M, also kind of a Walt Dies AU because i just did not feel like writing around him lmao, graphic depictions of puerto rican holiday dishes, its mostly fluff but there is just a touch just a SMACK of blowie in there, merry christmas ya filthy animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toadstoolkid/pseuds/toadstoolkid
Summary: Jesse is spending Christmas alone. Gus decides this must be remedied.
Relationships: Gustavo Fring/Jesse Pinkman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Blue Christmeth 2020





	think i'll miss this one this year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tuxbird (TheCowboyArtHistorian)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCowboyArtHistorian/gifts).



> I HOPE THIS IS TO UR SATISFACTION AJ <3333 you're the best and im glad to call you my friend!! heres to a bitchin 2021 :)

It’s 11:46 in the morning on Christmas Eve, and Gustavo is sitting in an inconspicuous car across the street from his boy-toy-slash-best-meth-manufacturer’s house with no intention of so much as looking at a gingerbread cookie in his company. Gus had been seeing Pinkman--no, Jesse, he keeps reminding himself--for only a little while by the time December had rolled around, and while their relationship isn’t public, nor is it even very emotionally intimate, it’s very good for relieving stress. This is the only thing that matters to Gus. Spending Christmas together would be unnecessary, especially when there’s plenty of work to be done back at the restaurant.

Still, he can’t help but feel a twinge of attachment to the boy. 

Ever since Walter had succumbed to his health problems, Jesse has grown aimless. He is free to pursue his own goals without having to conform to his partner’s wishes, and yet… he appears more haunted than ever. Gus never understood the complexities of their relationship, and though it may be inconvenient at times, he strongly prefers to keep it that way. The most evident thing to come out of it all is that Jesse is desperately in need of a friend, and the best Gus could do for him is to be there to support his choices. And, at the very least, check up on him every once in a while to ensure all is well.

A dog’s sharp bark down the block stirs Gus from his thoughts, and the next thing he knows, he’s forcing himself out of his car and up the front porch steps of the Spanish Colonial. The knock on the door seems to echo in Gus’s ears, the sound imprinting itself there as he waits to be greeted. Moments pass. No answer. Gus knocks again.

“Jesse?” Gus calls, quietly, after the third knock. His stomach starts to sink, and his throat feels dry. He had just seen Jesse a few days before at the lab; could something possibly have happened between now and then? Gus is sweating slightly now, trying to remain composed externally but debating with his own nerves on the inside. Jesse had promised sobriety after their first tryst, but what if losing Walter had caused him to relapse? Should he have been more attentive? What if-

A simple thought strikes Gus suddenly, and he tries the doorknob. The bolt clicks, and the door to the house creaks open. He wastes no time stepping inside. Apologies for invasion of privacy can be made later, if necessary.

All of the anxiety in Gus’s throat begins to fade as he registers tinny music emanating from the kitchen. Empty soda cans and other random detritus litters the rug and sofa, but it all appears recent. A freshly rolled joint smolders in a crystalline ashtray on the coffee table, but the burnt smell of harder chemicals that he had noticed the first time he ever visited Jesse is absent. Gus discovers the master of the house up to his skinny elbows in dishwater, nodding his head absentmindedly to whatever bad rap music he’s got booming over his earbuds. The wave of immense relief that washes over Gus at the sight reacts inside him with something else, something beautiful and rare, and at that moment he does something drastic.

“Good morning, Jesse,” Gus starts. He tries to announce himself loudly and calmly so the younger man will hear him over his music, but leftover adrenaline forces the greeting out of his throat in a near shout. 

“Jesus FUCK!” Jesse drops a plate on the floor as he whips around in alarm. It shatters cleanly in two and skids across the linoleum. Whoops. “No, by all means, come right in. Oh my god.”

A shadow of what might have been embarrassment crosses Gus’s face. “Apologies.”

“...You’re good.” 

“Allow me to try again.” Gus clears his throat. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

-

It’s 6:30 sharp in the evening on Christmas Eve, and Gus is hoisting a large cardboard box of food out of the backseat of his car outside Jesse’s house. It’s much colder now than it had been in the morning, the winter winds slashing the clouds above into blue-purple streaks, but the house seems to emanate warmth even from across the street. 

Before his knuckles even touch the wood of the door, a voice calls out from a nearby window. “It’s open.”

As Gus steps inside, he’s taken aback by how different the house looks from this morning. The floors have been swept, and the tables and shelves decluttered. All the lights in the house have been turned on, bathing the open-plan common room in a golden glow. It’s all quite respectable compared to the usual state of Jesse’s home. Impressive, even.

“I know you’re not a fan of mess.”

Gus turns around to see Jesse beaming at him from the hallway. Like the house itself, he looks cleaner and more put together than he did in the morning. He’s wearing a fresh pair of jeans, and a heather gray flannel hangs unbuttoned over his white t-shirt. The cuffs of the shirt are pushed up to his elbows. A small towel is slung over his shoulder. He looks so painfully domestic that Gus wants to toss their dinner aside and make out with him right there.

Instead, he opts for a more predictable approach. “You should really stop leaving your home unlocked.”

Jesse only snorts and gestures to the box cradled in Gus’s arms. “Let’s pop that mofo in the oven. I’m, like, dying here.”

Since the oven’s already preheated and the pernil mostly cooked, dressing the cut of meat and sliding it onto the middle rack takes less than five minutes. Gus adjusts the temperature, sets the timer for 45 minutes, and begins to unload the rest of the contents of the box onto Jesse’s kitchen island. Jesse himself watches, mesmerized, as Gus sets out the food. The first things to come out of the box are two large bowls, one made of blue plastic and the other of shining steel, respectively containing an abundance of fresh garden salad and arroz y gandules. 

“Jesus, you make all this yourself?” Jesse exclaims.

His partner only shrugs and sets another tinfoil wrapped loaf of bread on the countertop. “It’s Christmas. I cook on Christmas.”

“Uh, clearly.”

The last to come out of the box is a half quart of homemade coquito, picturesque in its ornate glass bottle. “Glasses, Jesse?” 

The younger man’s face turns red as he digs around in the cabinet for a pair of cups. Gus realizes the development as well, the ever-ticking gears in his brain grinding to a halt for no more than a split second. This is the first real time he’s called him by his forename. Outside of… well. Their more frequent activities. He clears his throat.

“This should go in the refrigerator until dinner is served, really…” Gus hastily pulls the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop!, and fills both their glasses with just enough to taste. “But I see no harm in being ahead of time.”

“Right on,” Jesse says. He raises his glass, knocking it against his companion’s unceremoniously, and seems to think for a minute. “To whatever this is, then,” he finally blurts, gesturing between them with his free hand. “To us.”

Gus smiles. It’s more genuine a smile than any he’s given in most of his adult life. “To us.”

They drink.

-

“So you really don’t prefer to spend the holidays with your family, then?” Outside, the sky has gone from lilac to navy, and Gus and Jesse sit together at the younger man’s cramped kitchen table over countless shared stories and cleaned plates they’re too sluggish to put in the sink. Gus is nursing a second glass of coquito, a real one this time. “I’m surprised. You strike me as a ‘the more the merrier’ type of man.”

“Eh. Christmases with them are too... stuffy. Parents always made me wear itchy sweaters and comb my hair like a European schoolboy and shit like that, even after I got out of high school. I’d rather be by myself than with them.” Jesse frowns at his recollection. “Not that they’d want me around now anyway.”

Gus says nothing, only reaches out and gives his hand a quick squeeze. He seems relatively unfazed by the memories, however, and only holds Gus’s hand as it is given, staring down at it with an absent smile on his face.

“Wanna head to the couch?” Jesse suddenly asks.

It’s nearly 10 by the time they’ve packed all the leftovers away in the fridge and put their dirty plates in the sink. Gus is the first to hit the sofa, letting Jesse sprawl out on top of him while he flicks through his different cable channels. Predictably, it’s mostly reruns and Christmas specials. Jesse flips past what looks like a cooking show—a friendly looking woman is explaining to the camera how pear slices can add depth to your cranberry pie filling—and Gus remembers the one thing that he’d forgotten to make.

“Dessert!” Gus exclaims, smacking a palm to his forehead. He’s almost astounded at his own lack of foresight. “My God, I’ve forgotten dessert. How careless.”

“I don’t know about that.” 

Jesse almost purrs the words, and the tone of the evening shifts immediately. All thoughts of sweets vanish from Gus’s mind.

He looks down at him, his scruffy cheek pressed against Gus’s silk shirt. Blue eyes gleam darkly back up at him, and he can tell that Jesse wants something. Still, he doesn’t move a muscle.

Gus’s hand reaches out of its own accord, moving faster than his mind can catch up to what’s happening, and slips to Jesse’s shoulder. He nudges him down, down, until his face is level with Gus’s crotch. The younger man lets himself be pushed, fingertips gently grazing down Gus’s clothed thighs. Jesse moans hot and open-mouthed against the fabric when Gus’s hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his head, massaging the soft fuzz on the nape of his neck, and Gus stiffens in his pants as delicate hands palm at his inner thighs. His eyes have slipped shut momentarily. The clink of his belt buckle snaps him back into real life.

Jesse actually whimpers as Gus’s dick springs free against his belly. Gus knows he’s by no means poorly endowed, but even in a half-hard state past lovers have claimed he dwarfed others in comparison. Jesse seems to understand this, taking his time to inspect the swollen body part in front of him. It’s never been so plainly presented before, not in clear lighting or with such ample time available to them both.

“God, you’re fucking huge.” Experimentally, he licks up the base with the tip of his tongue, prompting a ragged inhale from the other man.

Jesse will often try to be a tease just to provoke rougher treatment, but tonight isn’t one of those nights. Little time passes before Gus is deep in his throat, shallowly thrusting as Jesse bobs his head up and down almost pornographically.

“Just like that, my sweetheart. You’re doing– fuck– you’re doing so well for me. Keep going, just like that, baby.”

The pet names make Jesse whimper around Gus’s cock. He’s so determined to please, so compliant, it breaks Gus’s heart almost as much as it arouses him. It’s exactly what nudges him over the edge in the end, spurring him to push Jesse halfway off of his cock without warning and press the head against his hot tongue. Come visibly spurts out of Gus in ropes. Jesse obediently keeps his mouth open the entire time, swallowing every drop.

Only when Gus comes down from his high can he truly see how aroused his partner is himself. Jesse is practically humping the edge of the couch, his expression wanton and hands wandering over as much of Gus as he can reach. “Come here,” the older man orders. Jesse scooches up the couch until he’s practically straddling him.

Gus makes short work of his lover; within minutes, Jesse’s practically sobbing and bucking into his hand, the muscles of his sex pulsing frantically against calloused fingers. He’s so handsome like this.

Jesse slumps back down into his partner a moment later, both of them sleepy and content.

“Will you stay?” he asks. Gus nods, and a kiss so gentle is pressed to his lips that it would almost be chaste if he weren’t able to taste himself on it.

Somehow, the Food Network is still on.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first published fic please be gentle with me 🥺 im no stephen king but writing this was fun as hell and i like how it came out!! constructive criticism is definitely welcome!


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